Unsteady
by Jewel08
Summary: Harry Potter had never been normal. No matter how much he wished to be. However, one action changed the fate of the Chosen One forever; will he fall to the Darkness within his soul or will the Light save him?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: You know, there are a lot of different Star Wars/Harry Potter crossovers, and some of them seem very odd and not really logical (but that's just my opinion, there's a high chance I'm wrong...), but I am fond of the ones that involve Harry and Anakin somehow meeting and helping each other. One Chosen One to another. That's what motivated me to write this! *beams* Of course, mine is going to be a little different.**

 **Remember, Reviews make this author very, very happy and a very happy author does good job on her story. Give me reviews?**

Chapter One

As long as he could remember, whispers had always followed him.

As a child with his _normal_ , _non-freakish_ relatives, whispers followed him everywhere, soft murmurs of the odd, _unnatural_ child with the eerie green eyes. The child that was a delinquent, strange, a loner; a child that was bullied by his older cousin and neglected by the people that should have taken care of him. The child that yearned, above all else, to know not only the love of a parent but also the acceptance of those he knew.

But perhaps he felt too deeply, loved too strongly, for the few friends he managed to gain despite his cousin's interference never stayed. It was like the more he tried, the farther away his desires and hopes seemed.

When that boy was eleven, he discovered that much of what he thought he knew were lies. He discovered a great secret, of magic and murder and the truth of his parents' deaths. It sent a warm thrill through him, to learn that his parents loved him enough to gladly give their _lives_ for him. _(How many people so far in his life could claim that? Not his_ relatives _, that was for sure.)_

But even there the whispers followed him, in the ancient castle built by four extraordinary people. Whispers of the _Boy-Who-Lived_ , the defeater of the terrorist that had nearly taken over that hidden world. No one seemed to care that he had lost his parents and grew up with abnormal-hating relatives; they whispered and gossiped and never gave him any privacy at all. His whole life, everything that he'd ever done, would do, and never did (those stupid stories about what a hero he was), was on display for them. _If this had happened to them, how would they like it?_

Yes, he did grow to resent the Wizarding World and the people in it. Even in his first year exposed to the society he should have grown up in, he was unsure whether this was all worth the sacrifices countless people had made to stop a single Dark Lord with a fear of death. From what he read and heard from the people who lived through that war, nothing had really changed after the Dark Lord's death. Supporters waited in the shadows, simply keeping their mouths shut about their opinions on the matter, while some actual followers that had avoided prison still walked free, claiming they had been controlled and forced to do those horrific deeds against their will.

The whispers grew worse his second year of schooling, when they discovered his ability to communicate with reptiles. _Why did people consider it Dark? They're just animals; they do everything they do in order to survive, unlike humans that sometimes kill maim and torture for fun and sport. Snakes weren't bad, despite being perverts._

He was shunned, feared and hated, because attacks were happening all over the school and he was a suspect. Rage filled his veins like lava when he saw what people thought of him, rage that he quickly pushed down so that the few friends he had at school wouldn't abandon him too. He had always felt those darker emotions easier than the more positive ones like happiness and love, maybe because people had always shown more of those dark emotions than anything else, and he didn't want to lose his friends because there was darkness in his heart.

When the whispers turned worshipful again instead of being spiteful and suspecting, he hated them a little bit more. They loved and praised him one day, then made him out to be the villain the next! WHY did his parents ever want to save them?!

And the Headmaster...he was the worst of them all. He had done _nothing_ to stop the attacks, even though that memory from the diary had showed that the man had taught the man behind the attacks 50 years ago; how had he not figured it out? He was supposed to be a genius, or at least very intelligent, but...there was some doubt now.

On and on the whispers went, talking about his various misadventures that so nearly took his life, never asking him directly for the truth. He could only soldier onward, trying his best to ignore them. A godfather imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit, those soul-sucking _demons_ that tortured him with his absolute worst memories, his mother's screams and pleading for his life, and then that godforsaken tournament he was forced in. Again the whispers turned nasty and venomous, ignoring the clear signs that said he never wanted any of this.

Fourth year was only the latest time he seriously considered running away and leaving that backwards society to its fate. It was _so tempting_ to wash his hands of them; the only thing that stopped him was the thought of the children. Innocent children that didn't deserve to suffer for their predecessor's mistakes. Children that deserved the chance to grow up better than he had.

Yes, for the children.

Despite the Dark Lord returning to an actual body, the elected leader of their society refused to believe his claims and proceeded to act like an ostrich, hiding his head in the sand in hopes that it was all just a terrible dream. The whispers never turned back to supportive, staying scathing and derogatory, as they proclaimed him a lying and delusional child seeking attention. The rage and hatred he had always felt from a young age stayed coiled in his heart that summer, only increasing with every bit of slander the newspaper published with the backing of the Ministry.

 _It would be all too easy... all too easy to turn on them and give them a Dark Lord even greater and more terrible than the last._ And once more it was only the thought of even more children suffering the way he had that stayed his hand.

The school was no longer a haven and home to the fifteen-year old; he was an outcast still to his peers and even his friends didn't know how to react to the rising Darkness in their friend. A wretched Toad tortured him, forcing him to write lines in his own blood that scarred his hand. They were learning nothing from her, and his fury reached new levels. _It would be so easy to throttle her...he could see her already-bulging eyes widen even more as she clawed at the grip on her throat and the life abandon her. No one would miss her, something whispered to him, and he'd be protecting others at the same time, what would be the harm?_

Near the end of the year, he received a false vision of the Dark Lord torturing his godfather, the only person in that _black hole_ of a society, and despite knowing it could be a trap, he decided to go anyway. No one trusted him, no one believed him outside of a very small group, and if that vision was actually true and he didn't act on it... he'd lose the only father-figure he had ever had in his life.

That was unacceptable.

So he went, going to the Ministry with a few others that refused to let him go alone, and ended up fighting for his life and those of his friends'. Some of the ever-present hate and rage was released in the form of not-so-Light attacks, attacks that would have horrified his Headmaster and more Light friends. _Hmph. It wasn't like Light attacks couldn't do just as much damage as Dark ones._

However, all that hope had been in vain. His godfather was killed anyway, pushed through a Veil that had probably once been used for executions. Maddened by grief and horrified that _it was his own fault_ , he ran after his godfather with a wordless cry.

 _And the universal, living Force shuddered._

 **Okay; I hope you guys liked that. Hopefully you guys know where I'm going with this, but if not...well, the second chapter will clue you guys in.**

 **I do love the Harry Potter books, but there is so much that just rubs me the wrong way. I mean, how in Sith hell does Harry not snap from all the Bantha poodoo he's gone through?! And the thing 'the Dark Lord knows not' being love?! OH PLEASE! However, I'm not bashing anyone, not even Albus Dumbledore, who's made quite a few bad decisions.**

 **This chapter was mainly to highlight how similar I think Anakin and Harry are. It'll make more sense later.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I'm glad that people seem to be enjoying this story; I've got ten reviews already! A few people have asked if Harry's going to be paired with Anakin...well, that will actually be impossible to do, but you're going to have to read on to find out why. Besides, I can't have Luke and Leia if Anakin doesn't fall in love with Padme.**

 **The title of this story actually comes from the X-Ambassador's song by the same name; I thought that it suited both Anakin and Harry very well.**

 **My sister, Anera527, has a really good Harry Potter/Star Wars crossover of her own: it's called The Potter of the Ages. For HP, it happens after Order of the Phoenix, where Dumbledore arrives late to the Ministry Battle and Voldemort captures Harry and tortures him. Harry's tossed through the Veil and ends up landing on Coruscant, after the Yuuzhan Vong War but before Jacen becomes a Sith. The last time she updated was January of last year, as a late Christmas gift for me. I just wouldn't stop asking her about it! So go support my wonderful sister, who is a much better writer than I am. And maybe help me convince her to update the next chapter?**

 **Read and Review!**

Chapter Two

Shmi Skywalker smiled up at the stars, one hand rubbing at her rounded belly. She couldn't help the thrill of excitement and hope that went through her, when it finally sank in that _she was going to be a mother!_ But even so... Shmi began to worry. She was a slave, had been since she was young and her parents had been captured, and now her child would be born a slave. Her master wouldn't allow an abortion, and she wouldn't undergo one even if she had that choice, but would her child resent her for it?

She felt her child, her Star, kick inside her womb as soon as she had that thought, like he or she had heard and vehemently disagreed. She laughed quietly. "It's all right, my little Star," she murmured. "I'm glad you seem not to resent me for our lot in life." Shmi's hand glided across her belly. "But I promise you, son, that I will be here for you."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Shmi held her tiny son in her arms, still recovering from the trial that was childbirth, and finally decided on what her child's name would be. There was no father, she'd never had even a boyfriend when younger, so there had been no opportunity to discuss names, and she was in quite a bit of shock for most of her pregnancy to even think past the impossibility that she was pregnant.

But now she had decided.

Anakin. A name meaning warrior. She hoped that he would fight for what he believed in, that he would be strong. Strong in more ways than just physically, because somehow she sensed that Anakin was not meant for the life of a slave; Anakin was meant for more. He would take the entire _galaxy_ by storm and change it into something amazing.

She cuddled her tiny son closer to her and felt a small smile come to her lips. It was funny; holding her son now, in her arms, she finally felt complete...

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"Mama?"

Shmi tried to give her little Ani a smile but winced instead, the purple bruise on her cheek throbbing. Gurdulla the Hutt was harsh and demanding, no softer than the males of her species, and every day there was a threat of getting a beating.

"Mama!"

Anakin ran to her, his shaggy blond hair as messy as always. Sky-blue eyes, with the faintest trace of emerald green in their depths, looked up at his mother with concern. Young or not, Anakin was so different from others of his age; he _knew_ things, sometimes before they happened, and his reflexes were much more than any other human. Shmi was scared; such abilities would be very useful, but most slave owners were cruel or just indifferent. What would happen to her only child? Would he be killed for his abilities, his gifts, would they take him from her, or would they try to twist his gifts and charm to their own desires?

"I'm all right, my little Star," Shmi murmured gently, threading her fingers through blond strands. "There are things you receive in life that are much worse than a simple bruise."

Anakin looked up at her, and in his eyes Shmi could see that some part of her little boy understood, somehow, what she was talking about. But she smiled as much as she could with the bruise on her face and kissed his forehead. "Now, how about you show me what new project you're working on?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Betting was an awful habit, Shmi knew; Lady Luck would betray you eventually and you would lose everything. Gurdulla the Hutt experienced part of this firsthand, losing Shmi and Anakin both to a Toydarian named Watto. Watto had seen Anakin fixing a complicated machine before the podrace had started, and the young boy's extraordinary talents had obviously caught his eye.

As mother and son looked around their new quarters, empty of any slaves except for them, Shmi tightened her grip on her little Star. (He was getting big, she absently noticed; soon she would no longer be able to hold him in her arms like this.) She didn't know much about Watto, since none of the other slaves had mentioned the alien and no other Hutts had either, so the Toydarian was a mystery to her. And that scared her. Would he treat them better than Gurdulla or would he be worse? And Anakin: would he be safe under Watto's ownership?

A little hand touched her cheek, and Anakin smiled at her. Shmi returned it, stroking his hair. "Now, why don't we see your new room? I'm sure that it'll be bigger than your old one, much more space for all your spare parts and projects. And then we can see about getting something to eat. Watto wants us at his shop tomorrow; remember, be on your very best behavior, my little Star." Anakin nodded in all the right places as his mother recited all the rules out of nerves; he knew that his mother was very afraid, and that just made him want to protect her even more. She did so much for him, and Anakin wanted to do something to show his mother how much he appreciated that. And that something was following what she said without complaint. But...

Maybe he could build her something? Something to help her around the house when he wasn't there? He'd have to think about that, figure out what he was even going to build, but Anakin felt excited. This project was going to be bigger and definitely more important than anything else he'd done before; after all, how many seven year olds went around building things for their mother to help her in the house?

And if he was building this because somewhere, deep in his heart, he feared what would happen if he wasn't there, well... no one else had to know. Anakin Skywalker had always had this fear of losing those he loved. The little boy didn't know where this fear came from, only that it was deeply rooted and nearly all-consuming.

Maybe all-consuming enough to destroy his whole life if he wasn't careful.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

More than anything else, Anakin wanted to be free.

He had been born a slave, something that he would _never_ blame his mother for, and so had never known what being free even meant. Was it being allowed to do what you wanted, to make your own choices, to make your own path through life? Making your own mistakes, your own family, your own happiness? Would it be scary or liberating to be free after being a slave your whole life?

Anakin wanted to be free to travel, to see every star in the galaxy. He could hardly imagine all the different things to see out there, things that no one else had even dreamt of yet. To be the first one to see every star up there... Anakin eagerly looked up at the night sky, trying to decide which one he'd visit first, on that day when he and his mother were free.

And as always, when he looked up at the silver stars, the image of gray eyes and the sound of bark-like laughter flitted across his mind.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

There was almost nothing better than flying. Even when said flying was being done in a highly-dangerous, highly-fatal sport like podracing. The feeling of the wind in his face, the thrill of a dangerous flying sport that could end very badly, was nostalgic to the little boy. Like he'd done something similar, long ago or in a dream. Red hair, mischeivous laughter, and small golden balls came to mind, even though Anakin didn't understand what those images and sounds meant.

However, he did feel a little guilty about worrying his mother so much. She tried her best to protect him, from the harshness of their life and other dangers, and here he was racing pods with a high chance that he could die. But when Anakin brought that up, Shmi simply smiled at her son and said, "I don't like you participating in those podraces; no mother would. But even if Watto hadn't ordered you to race, I wouldn't stop you if that is truly what you want to do, my little Star." Seeing Anakin's stunned look, the older Skywalker laughed. "I will not be able to protect you forever. Eventually you will have to make your own choices and mistakes without me there to help, so I'm giving you some experience now, to help you when you get older. But know that I will always be praying for your safety, my little Star. You are the most precious thing in my life."

Anakin smiled and gave her the biggest hug ever, thanking her not only for trusting him with the responsibility but for her faith and love he had received his whole life.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The years slowly passed, Anakin getting older, bigger, and just that little bit more knowledgeable of Tatooine and the galaxy as a whole. Shmi had a few gray hairs in her brown strands from trying to reign in her rambunctious and reckless little Star, but otherwise she was still as lovely, wise, and caring as always. They endured their way through life as a slave, doing their best to keep their spirits up.

Anakin presented his mother with a protocol droid shortly before his ninth birthday, a droid he had decided to name C-3PO, or Threepio for short, since the droid hadn't had any identification and his memory banks didn't extend further back than when Anakin had first activated him. He was the third member of their little family, despite his fussiness, and Threepio was quite useful for working around the house when Shmi was out working.

Anakin still needed to get plate coverings for the droid, or else the sand would eventually wreak havoc on his exposed wires and parts. Threepio didn't go outside very often so it wasn't too bad for now, but sand was always an issue on a desert planet like Tatooine. The stuff always got everywhere, no matter what the people in town tried to do. "I'm thinking gold," Anakin said to himself, eyeing Threepio carefully. "Not silver." Green and silver had always struck an uneasy chord in him; Anakin didn't hate them per say, but he tended to avoid those two colors. He preferred red and gold, though only certain shades of that first color, or even a nice blue. No oranges or ugly browns, though Anakin had never seen a protocol droid plated in brown or orange before. (Well, strictly speaking, he'd never seen a protocol droid before Threepio before, only heard about them from stories that pilots liked to share in canteenas. And in all those stories, they'd only been gold or silver.)

"Gold or silver plating's very expensive out here, little Star," Shmi remarked from nearby. She was cleaning their little home, brushing stray strands of hair away from her face whenever they escaped from her bun. "I think regular metal will have to do until you save up enough money."

Anakin frowned. "But regular metal wouldn't last very long with all the sand and heat outside, right?" The pilots that had worked with protocol droids before had told the little boy so interested in stories from exotic places that the metal plates on those droids, even if they weren't made wholly from gold or silver, were specially treated to not dull or melt even in extreme temperatures or high winds. Regular metal was not treated the same way and would eventually rust or worse if exposed to such conditions like on Tatooine.

"It wouldn't have to," Shmi shrugged. "And I could replace them every so often until you finally get the gold plates."

Anakin beamed at his mother, thanking her, before turning back to the eye he was working on for Threepio. Something was wrong with it and the droid couldn't actually see out of it, causing quite a few hilarious moments when Threepio would stumble into a wall or doorway.

"Mama..."

Shmi looked up at her son, seeing the faraway look in his eyes as he said, "Something's coming; something that'll change our lives."

 **And done! A couple little notes before I leave you all until the next chapter: I love Shmi, and I hope I captured her character and thoughts correctly in this chapter. You really have to respect her for raising her son by herself in slavery, letting him go at nine/ten years old despite the pain it caused, and then lasting against torture from Sand People for months.**

 **And Anakin's thoughts on droid colors? Those were inspired by my own. I've never heard of protocol droids being other colors beside gold and silver. But I made up the bit about the metal plates for protocol droids being treated for extreme weather conditions; I don't know if it's true, though it made the most sense to me.**

 **Anakin's distaste for silver and green? Carried over from being Harry; Lily's and his eyes were green but so is the Killing Curse, but he was meant to go in Slytherin House before he changed the Sorting Hats' mind, so he'd have mixed feelings about that color, and the same for red. His House colors include red, the Weasleys all have red hair, but Voldemort has crimson eyes, too. The blue I was going for was Tardis blue. Orange was a refernce to the Chudley Cannons and brown to the ugly sweater Harry shrunk before coming to Hogwarts.**

 **Please leave me a review!**


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